A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure
by Casa Circe
Summary: Miranda meets Sherlock. And hilarity ensues. Need I even say more?
1. Chapter 1

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously.

_NOTE: 11-11-11_

_I just wanted to post something special on this historic date and what is more amusing than a crossover of two my favorite shows ever! I know that they're from different genres but that's what makes it more fun to combine them. The thought of Miranda and Sherlock crossing paths was too hilarious to pass up on. And this is also a response the appalling lack of "Miranda" fan fiction. Honestly, the show needs more love._

_So I'm writing this from Miranda's point of view which is really tricky as I don't have much experience in first-person narratives and it's very difficult to translate Miranda Hart's reactions and facial expressions into writing. But I'll try my best._

_I have no idea how long this is going to be but I'll try to keep it as interesting as I can. I don't know if I can seriously imagine them together so I don't think this is going to be ship story. If anything, the attraction is bound to be one-sided. And this is probably going to be the greatest crack ship ever imagined. But if you watch both shows, you can pretty much know what to expect from this. Or not. Even I don't know where this is heading. All I know is, I just had to do this._

_I don't pretend to have even a fraction of Miranda's wit or Sherlock's brilliance. _

_This is just my humble tribute to two shows that I am madly in love with. And this is also to pass the time while waiting for the new seasons to begin. So I hope you find this as amusing as I do._

_Enjoy!_

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Well, hello there! How are you?

Great, now back to me!

As you may have noticed, I'm not at home today. And yes, that is Big Ben in the background. You guessed correctly! I'm in London!

Previously in my life, I decided to take a holiday in London to get away from mother, who continues to pester me about finding a man; from Stevie, who's taken the work at the joke shop far too seriously (which really doesn't make any sense since it's a JOKE shop!); and from Gary, and all the complications he reminds me of.

No, I have decided to become a more independent and cosmopolitan woman. So I found me a charming little flat in central London.

Yes, thank you, thank you, I know you think I'm amazing.

I have to admit, it was a nightmare to find some decent lodging in London, so the place I settled for is far from ideal. But my landlady, Mrs. Hudson, is a lovely woman.

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"Well, I hope you will be comfortable here, dear," Mrs. Hudson told me when I first arrived, "I'm glad somebody finally took this place on."

"Oh, it will do very nicely," I told her though I was really thinking:

"I can see why no one's ever taken the place. There's damp all over. It's practically the bottom of a pirate ship!"

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I managed to clean the place up as best as I could though.

Mrs. Hudson told me that there were a couple of other people living in the flat upstairs.

"I'm warning you now though that they tend to be a little…" she hesitated before saying, "…adventurous."

"Oh, not to worry, Mrs. Hudson," I replied confidently, "for I am very open to adventure."

Or at least I try to be. Even the damp on those walls was already beginning to scare me.

"Believe me, dearie," Mrs. Hudson said gravely, "you won't be ready for the kind of adventures those two get into."

Rude.

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Anyway, I finally met my two neighbors one day while I was coming back from sightseeing. John Watson seems like a lovely fellow. But his friend….ugh, what an arrogant, judgmental, irritating man!

Imagine, the first time I met them, he merely gave me a quick look over before telling his friend, "Don't waste time chatting with the tourist, John, we have more important things to do."

"I beg your pardon, sir," I replied in outrage, "I'll have you know that I am well-acquainted with London life and I am not a tourist."

"Ah," he said coolly, "so how do you explain your 'I Love London' T-shirt, the non-professional digital camera in your hand, and the 'Tourist Guide to London' book that is protruding from your handbag full of cheap souvenirs like miniature Big Ben key chains and refrigerator magnets?"

My jaw dropped at this and I couldn't find anything to say. He gave me a smug smirk.

"Sorry about that," John told me politely, "don't worry, he's like that to everyone."

"Well, I don't see anything wrong with doing a little shopping for my friends who've never been to London before," I managed to answer.

"I never said there was anything wrong with that," he replied nonchalantly, "but are you sure you're going to give those to your friends? Or maybe you prefer to erect a miniature version of London on your living room table?"

Again, I stared at him in shock. But I managed to recover quickly this time.

"Absolute rubbish," I told him.

But he was absolutely right.

He merely shrugged and entered his flat. John Watson gave me another apologetic look before following his friend into their flat.

The nerve of that Sherlock Holmes!

Just because he was spot-on about everything about me doesn't give him the right to get all cocky. (DON'T EVEN GO THERE.)

But then again, as infuriating as he is, he is still strangely appealing. And from what I've heard from Mrs. Hudson, he's still single too.

Hmmm…

I think I might have to turn on my allure.

I never thought I'd say this but it seems that my little trip to London is going to be …

SUCH FUN!


	2. Chapter 2

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously.

_NOTE: Happy Valentine's Day!_

_This is my hilarious entry for the day and because I haven't updated in so long .I decided to update only after finishing Sherlock Season 2 and you all know that this was followed by some very emotional coping. I've decided to set this story in between "A Scandal in Belgravia" and "The Reichenbach Fall" because to set it after would be far too complicated. This may be before or after the Hounds, it doesn't really matter much._

_For the next chapters, I plan to actually incorporate some mysteries, if my brain can come up with some decent ideas. I'm still sticking to writing from Miranda's POV although it gets tricky at times. Nevertheless, I still hope you find this as hilarious as I did._

_Such fun!_

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Ugh, Valentine's Day.

Just the thought of it makes me want to throw something at someone or do some other violent thing. I literally feel nauseous just remembering such a day exists on our calendar.

This is probably the most useless special occasion ever invented. I mean, it's absolutely ridiculous! Not to mention discriminatory.

Granted, some occasions can only be celebrated by certain religions but Valentine's Day plagues everyone, regardless of cultural differences.

I hate seeing these silly couples, flaunting their lovely relationships to the rest of the sad, lonely world. They're already happy together, why do they need to rub it in to the rest of us?

Valentine's Day is overrated. We don't need exclusive relationships to reinforce our self-worth. At least, I don't. I am a confident, independent, strong single woman and I don't need a man in my life.

Oh, hello, that detective who just arrived looks lovely. Oh, he went upstairs. Maybe I'll get to see him again when he passes by. Hmmm… Time to turn on the allure. Maybe later.

Now, where was I? Oh, right.

Anyway, I'm just glad I'm not home today because I am sure that everyone would just try to set me up with someone and I hate being set up. It never works and always ends in disaster. The last people Tilly and Mum tried to pair up with me were complete nightmares.

I shudder just to remember those failed dates.

And thank God, I'm out of Mum's radius for now or else I fear another literary-themed party would loom its loathsome head.

I have to shudder again at the thought of those parties.

No, I have other plans for tonight and they do not involve dressing up in empire gowns and having to do posh laugh's to the tune of "Rolling in the Deep".

There's this project I've been working on ever since I arrived in London. Remember that neighbor of mine who lives upstairs, Sherlock Holmes? Yes, the tall one with the cheekbones.

Well, I've been getting little hints for the past few days that he has been succumbing to my allure. Thank you, thank you, I know you're all proud of me.

Anyway, he's borrowed my phone several times to send mysterious text messages to random people. He also steals my muffins every now and then. I don't mind so much. I'm sure that's just his excuse to get closer to me.

He also constantly insults or ignores me, whenever I try to approach him. But I won't be fooled. He's obviously trying to mask his growing attraction to me by feigning antagonism.

But the way I see it is that we've never had any opportunity yet for a truly romantic moment. So I've decided to create that moment between us so that things can finally move forward.

I know that my previous attempts at this with Gary were far from successful. But I've come up with a better, fool-proof plan this time. I've watched enough romantic comedies to know that there is nothing more effective than the dramatic fall.

A girl "accidentally" falls and as a man catches her in his arms, their eyes meet in an intense gaze…and the rest is history!

All I have to do is somehow trip or slip on something while standing near him. Shouldn't be too hard, right?

You agreed far too easily. Rude.

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But things did not turn out as planned.

I picked an hour when I knew that Sherlock and his friend John would be arriving home in Baker Street. There was a conveniently placed bit of spilled jam on the floor which I was ready to "accidentally" slip on.

So I positioned myself properly and waited for the two to arrive. The door opened and the two men walked in. I nonchalantly walked towards them and stepped on the spilled jam.

"Whoops!"

But to my consternation, Sherlock managed to avoid catching me completely. He merely rolled his eyes and went straight upstairs. Rude.

So I found myself in the arms of John Watson.

"Got you," he said with a smile.

And what a smile. I wondered that I never noticed that before. Here was a very charming alternative.

"Well, hello you," I said in my most flirtatious voice.

And Oh My God! Did our eyes just meet? Did my romantic moment actually work this time?

Granted, he wasn't my original target but now that I got a good look at him, I'm not too disappointed. Not too bad, not too bad at all.

"You all right?" he asked in concern as I stood up and dusted myself off.

I had to look around before I saw him again.

Oh, right. That's why I didn't notice him too much before. So instinctively, I did the forward knee bend just so that we could speak to each other eye to eye.

He looked at me curiously.

"What is it you do again?" I asked, trying to make polite conversation, even if my back was already getting a bit cramped.

"I'm a retired army doctor," he replied.

"Oh," I said.

I shuddered at the recollection of the LAST army doctor who was interested in me. Ugh.

John Watson was definitely more of a dreamboat than "Dreamboat" Charlie ever was, at least.

But honestly, are all of our army doctors hobbits?

Anyway, I decided I'd give this one a chance since he seemed nice enough and in spite of the height difference, he did manage to catch me. That says something about his muscle. Quite impressive actually.

"Are you all right?" he asked, "Why are you bending like that?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I reassured him.

"So…" he said.

"So…" I said, trying to smile even though my back was already killing me.

"Any plans for tonight?" he asked casually, "One doesn't like to be alone on Valentine's."

Was he asking me out on a date? Looks like my allure was too much for him to handle, if you know what I mean?

"Hmmm," I replied coyly, "as a matter of fact, I'm pretty free tonight, if you're interested." 

"Great," he said, "I was thinking maybe dinner. I know this nice Italian place near Northumberland Street."

This was working a lot better than I had planned.

"Sounds good," I replied, "I love Italian food."

But before we could finalize any of our plans, that obnoxious roommate of his had to interrupt.

"John, what are you doing down there?" Sherlock Holmes called out.

"None of your business, Sherlock," John replied.

"Well, don't waste your time trying to pick up the tall woman downstairs," Sherlock continued in that know-it-all voice of his, "She was trying to get my attention, not yours."

"That's rather cheeky of you," I called back in an offended tone, even though I knew it was true.

"Don't pretend," Sherlock replied tersely, "and I think I might have already mentioned that I'm not interested."

"And who said I was interested in the first place?" I argued.

"Besides, we were just making plans," John added.

"Well, cancel them, and let me save you some time," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock! What are you talking about?" John asked.

"Come on, John, you're obviously not her type," Sherlock began, and I grew more and more uncomfortable with the accuracy of his statements.

"Oh, please," Sherlock persisted, "for starters, look at the height gap. She towers over you and so she had to do that awkward forward knee bend just to be able to look at you. I'm telling you John, she just wants to spare your feelings. But for both of you to even have a normal conversation she would have to LITERALLY stoop to your level."

"Shut up," John replied and turned to me.

"You don't really do that knee bend because I'm too short, do you?"

I nervously admitted that this was the case.

"Oh, all right then," John said coolly.

"Sorry," I apologized sincerely.

"It's fine, it's fine," he said calmly, "it would have been tricky anyway, right?"

"A bit tricky, yeah," I answered awkwardly.

"Oh, well, have a nice evening then," he said before heading upstairs.

"You too," I called out politely.

Ugh. Sherlock Holmes had to ruin everything. But then again, he did spare me an awkward date. And I'm still not giving up on applying my allure on him.

One of these days, Sherlock Holmes, you won't know what hit you!

But for now, I just have to say, ugh, Valentine's Day!


	3. Chapter 3

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously:_

_NOTE: Hello everyone! I know it's been a while since the last update. Honestly, I have not had much inspiration and I wasn't sure what to write. But with the third season of Sherlock on its way, I was struck by an urge to update this story again. I don't know how long it will be in the end but I will try harder to update more in 2014. This is just to show that I have not abandoned this little story. I just have not had a lot of ideas._

_For now, here's a quick chapter. This takes place sometime between Baskerville and the Reichenbach Fall. And it's a bit darker than previous chapters but not too heavy, I hope._

_But I can promise that there will be another update on Christmas Day, right before the third season airs. So you can be on the lookout for that. It will be my little present to my lovely readers._

_All subsequent chapters will be posted after the third season of Sherlock and before the fourth season of Miranda (which I hear will not be earlier than 2015, not fun.) Anyway, I'm grateful to anyone who is still reading this strange little crossover and I would love to hear your feedback. Enjoy!_

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Evening all.

Ooh, sounded like a policeman.

And speaking of policemen, do I have a tale for you. Since last we spoke I've had quite an adventure, you see.

Yes, I know, I'm not usually the adventurous type. But what can I say, adventures seek me out.

Thank you, thank you.

Anyway, back to my story. I'm still living in my little flat on Baker Street and things have been what I call intriguing. But I have managed to rise above all the chaos and hullabaloo and remain an upstanding citizen of Great Britain.

Except for the time I was a suspect of murder.

I know what you're thinking, naughty Miranda. But seriously, I'm not that naughty, and it really was a horrendous experience.

One morning, a couple of (very fit) policemen knocked at the door of 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson answered the door and assumed that the two coppers were looking for Sherlock Holmes, as usual, but to her surprise, they were looking for none other than _moi_.

Poor Mrs. Hudson watched me go with a sigh of resignation.

"How do they all find me?" I heard her mutter as I exited the house. Rude.

I was shocked and appalled but also a little bit excited. I've had my fair share of trouble with the local police (I still shudder to remember that one time I was arrested for impersonating a policewoman because I needed to go shopping for a date, but that's old news and you didn't really want to read about that.)

So I was brought to the headquarters at Scotland Yard and it would have been absolutely thrilling to be there if not for the little problem that I had been implicated in a murder investigation. I know I can be mischievous but I'm not evil.

But apparently, some confused individual had identified me (or someone who resembles me) as the culprit in a gruesome crime. (I won't give you all the details because I prefer to forget them all.) And it goes without saying that I was innocent.

I pleaded my case with the detectives, one of whom was a very handsome, silver-haired fox named Greg Lestrade. But for some odd reason, he was immune to my allure. Rude.

Unfortunately, when I was questioned about my actions and whereabouts on a certain date and time and I said that I had spent the night at home (doing a marathon of the "Pride and Prejudice" miniseries and crying into my popcorn about Gary but they didn't need to know that), since there was no one who could confirm my alibi, I remained a suspect.

I was crushed and horrified. This certainly wasn't the kind of excitement I had planned to experience by moving to London and I didn't want my mum to even learn about this issue. She would be even more mortified than she already was about me.

But by some stroke of luck, and I must confess that I have proven to be quite lucky here in London, my snobby neighbor, Sherlock Holmes, and his friend, John Watson happened to be at the headquarters at that moment, having just solved another case.

They passed by the interrogation room and Sherlock recognized me. (Of course he would, I make quite an impression on tall, handsome gentlemen, if I might say so myself.)

"Why are you wasting your time with her, Lestrade?" asked that distinctively deep voice haughtily, "She is obviously not the killer."

"But she matches the description given by the eyewitness," Lestrade argued.

"Nonsense," Sherlock continued dismissively, "I can assure you that this woman is utterly incapable of committing such an elaborate crime."

"Hey," I protested, "I'll have you know that I am an intelligent and capable woman."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"That's really not helping," Watson told me awkwardly.

"Is that a confession then?" Lestrade asked hopefully.

"No, of course not," I said sheepishly, "I just don't appreciate being insulted even if it leads to my acquittal. Surely, there is another way of proving my innocence."

"I don't' understand why you're even upset," Sherlock said callously, "I attested that you weren't murderer material. Under the circumstances, you should be thankful, really."

"Sherlock, please," Watson warned him, "she' clearly very distressed by this whole situation and it would really help if you explained everything and cleared her name."

"Out with it, then," Lestrade asked wearily, "you might as well save us some time on this one. And to be honest, I'm not that convinced that she's the killer either. I just don't have any other evidence to work with at the moment."

"Fine," Sherlock replied with a shrug, "first, off, how sure are you that the suspect was a woman? As far as I know, your witness only described a _person _of similar height and built but not necessarily a woman."

"Well," Lestrade answered awkwardly, "the suspect was described to be wearing women's clothing."

"That doesn't prove anything, Lestrade, it may have well been a man in disguise," Sherlock cried in frustration, "and how was the murder supposedly committed."

"According to the witness," Lestrade continued, growing more and more embarrassed, "the suspect executed the victim in an elaborate, martial arts style sequence."

"Well, that proves it then, man or woman, it definitely wasn't Miranda," Sherlock concluded, "She's far too clumsy to be able to pull anything like that."

"Excuse me," I protested, though I don't know why I was so eager to incriminate myself, I just didn't appreciate being called a klutz in Scotland Yard, "I am very flexible and even quite athletic."

To demonstrate, I attempted a sort of fancy lunge but ended up slipping on the floor and falling on my face in front of everyone. I was mortified. Thankfully, nobody laughed (too loudly) and, at least, two sets of strong, manly arms were helping me up (Lestrade's and Watson's. Sherlock was too busy rolling his eyes.)

"So you see, it could not possibly have been her," the consulting detective concluded, "and though this is hardly necessary, I can confirm that she was home at the flat on the night in question because John and I could hear her weeping over Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth and the hall was filled with the unmistakable scent of popcorn. So, there you have it. She's not the killer. I can, however, tell you how to find him."

He then launched into a long, detailed speech about the motives and methods of the actual killer in my case and once he provided enough details, I was finally let go. Detective inspector Lestrade made profuse apologies to me and I accepted these with as much dignity as I could muster.

John Watson politely offered to escort me home and I thanked him. As strong and capable as I was, this had all been more excitement than I had bargained for and I was quite exhausted. This time I gratefully took him up on his offer of dinner, though it wasn't a date, just a dinner between friends.

Sherlock would stay in the yard a bit longer to help sort out my case.

"Thank you," I told him sincerely before leaving with John, "though I wish you didn't have to embarrass me so much."

He gave me a quizzical look but John Watson gave him a quick nudge.

"No offense meant," Sherlock muttered perfunctorily, "and for what it's worth, when I said you weren't murderer material, it wasn't for lack of intelligence or ability, but for lack of ill-will and cruelty. I do not think you are that kind of person."

And that, I believe, was the kindest thing Sherlock Holmes ever said to me.


	4. Chapter 4

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously:_

_NOTE: Merry Christmas one and all!_

_As promised, here is the update, just before the year ends and just before the third season of "Sherlock" airs._

_UPDATE: I know I'm posting this late but I assure you it was ready yesterday but I couldn't log in to this site for some reason. So I'm sorry that this is being posted a bit late. But still, hope you all have happy holidays! Such fun!  
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_It won't be a very long chapter and it will be darker than previous ones because it deals with the aftermath of Reichenbach. But it won't be completely dark and hopefully there's still a bit of happiness and hope at the end of it._

_I will only be updating this story after the third season finishes (which will be in mid-January anyway). So, I hope you enjoy this update and see you all next year!_

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Well, hello to you, and a hearty Happy Christmas!

Aww, I've missed you, and I'm thrilled to be reunited. Ah, the holiday season, when families are determined to mortify you and you therefore have a better excuse to go emotional-binge-eating. I need large amounts of mince pies and fruit cake to be able to cope.

Right, catch-up time.

As you may have noticed, I have moved back into my lovely flat over my joke shop. As much as I wanted to spend the holidays in the big city, I decided that coming home here would be a better option. There was far too much excitement in London for me.

Not that I'm generally adverse to excitement, mind you. I like a little adventure every now and then. But I seem to have surpassed my quota for thrills when I was in Baker Street and I needed to return here for some precious me-time. I seriously need to recover from everything that happened, from the scandal surrounding Sherlock Holmes.

And his death.

It all happened so quickly and there was so much confusion around the events that led up to it that up until now, I can't believe he's actually gone. The one person I knew who would have been capable of cheating death had fallen. I don't know what to think or believe.

I would have denied it if I had not attended the funeral myself. I saw his gravestone and I saw the grief that fell upon John Watson like a shadow. I knew they were best friends. If John admitted that Sherlock was dead, then he truly must be.

And, in spite of the ghastly way he treated me (and all people, in general, let's be honest), I mourn for him.

Not just because he was a tall, handsome, wildly intelligent man with the deep, sonorous voice that could always melt my heart.

Not just because he was a brilliant detective who probably put many criminals behind bars.

Not just because he had been my neighbor in London. After all, he had hardly been a very friendly one. And he treated people like crap.

But because I know that deep down, beneath that cold exterior and those awful manners, he was someone good. Maybe he hadn't shown that side of him yet and now we would never know what he would have become.

Because the worse part was the controversy that led to his alleged suicide.

"Sherlock Holmes was a fake," they said. It was all over the papers.

But I couldn't believe it. I'm sure anyone who had met him would know that he was definitely the real deal. He knew more about me in a glance than anyone I had ever met.

And the things he knew could not have been researched. Or at least, I don't think anyone would bother doing an investigation on my fruit friends, on my tumultuous history with Gary, and my fascination with certain words.

No one was ever that interested in me.

And yet, even though I knew he wasn't as attracted to me as I wanted to believe, he saw me, the real me, with all my little habits and silly antics.

It was freaky. But it was real.

So despite what everyone else says, I do not think Sherlock Holmes was a fake.

"Honestly, Miranda, don't be such a fool," my mother tells me, "everyone who is anyone has read all about his hiring an actor to play his what I call nemesis. I would have thought your short stay in London would have given you a clearer perspective on real world affairs."

"It has, mother," I argue, "and that is why I know better than to blindly believe what I see in the papers or hear in gossip. I met the man, mother, and I know what he's really like."

"You're not really the best judge of character, darling," she reminds me.

"Maybe not always," I reply, "but in this case, I am absolutely certain."

"Really, darling, you can be so tiresome," she says with resignation before dropping the subject and talking about her embarrassing plans for the family Christmas celebration. I listen with minimal attention because such things seem so trivial compared to all that I had experienced in such a short time.

London has broadened my perspective on things. And meeting that consulting detective has made a real impact on my life.

I think I've changed and I'd like to believe I've changed for the better. I have had some serious life experiences and I think I've grown up a little bit, but not in a boring, tedious way. I still have my sense of fun. I'm never going to lose that.

But somehow, I think I'm a bit more mature and I know my own mind a little better. And I'm not going to be influenced by scandalous reports when my instincts tell me something else.

So, if Stevie would only bring out her cardboard cut out of Miss Heather Small's head, I would have a ready answer.

"_What have you done today to make you feel proud?"_

Well, let me tell you this, Miss Heather Small, today I have made a big life decision. I have taken a stand.

I believe in Sherlock Holmes.


	5. Chapter 5

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously:_

_NOTE: Hello again! Sorry it's been a while. I've been busy with other things. But I found out that Benedict Cumberbatch and Miranda Hart will be appearing together on the Graham Norton Show this Friday and I am so what I call THRILLED. It will be great to see them interact with each other and I am pretty sure there will be some hilarious moments._

_Taking that as an incentive to write and cause for celebration, I decided to post a new chapter today. This takes place right before the first episode of the third season. I'm still planning to write one chapter for every episode of Sherlock Season 3._

_I have a feeling that after the interview on Friday, I will have even more inspiration for this story._

_But for now, hope you like this!_

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Hello there! Long time no see!

Aww, yes of course you missed me! How sad and dreary life must have been for you without me. Worry not, I am back!

Now, gather round please for my news!

I'm back in London. Yes, I know, exciting! But it's not for long. Just a little holiday (mostly to get away from Mum) so I can visit some old friends, see an art exhibit, maybe catch a musical or two at the West End (I hear Miss Saigon's fantastic!) Yes, just me being a classy, cultured lady.

I mean, I always was one but I wanted to make a little more effort this time.

After all, it's been a while. Two years, in fact.

Don't get me wrong. I haven't stopped believing in Sherlock Holmes. I just feel that I'm finally ready to see London again, now that most of the hullabaloo has died down.

But it's really not the same.

Is it just me or has the crime rate risen ever since Sherlock Holmes went missing? (I still don't believe he's dead. Don't argue with me on this!)

I was nearly mugged twice on my first day in London.

I say nearly because I think that both times the thieves changed their mind when they realized the only reason I was clutching my bag so close to me was because it was full of fruit friends and veggie pals. Don't give me that look. I get nervous when I travel alone so I pack a few friends to keep me company. Everyone does it.

Also, I wouldn't be surprised if there high rates of mugging in the city. Everyone has their mobile phones out all the time. When they're not texting, they're tweeting or taking selfies or taking pictures of their lunch or all those other things by which they document every single moment of their daily lives.

I used to think that this kind of constant mobile phone usage was limited to the youths. Youths! (shudder) We're living in their world now and it's becoming more and more difficult to navigate.

Not that I'm that old, mind you. But maybe I'm still a little bit old fashioned?

Anyway, it's like we don't need to be put under surveillance anymore. At the rate people are posting about themselves online, they're practically giving away everything about their lives. It makes me think this kind of culture would make it so much easier for Sherlock Holmes to learn one's secrets.

But not less impressive. After all, he is able to tell you your life story at a glance - not at your Internet history - but at you!

Yes, I still think about him sometimes. Not in THAT way. He never seemed to affected by my allure but I think that's only because he is impervious to ALL kinds of allure. He was too busy solving crimes for any of that and he seemed perfectly happy that way.

Anyway, I remember him when I'm in London because he was very much a part of my life here. Without him, everyone else seems so ordinary and even what I call BORING.

Oh no, I'm slowly becoming my mother. We can't have that.

I dropped by the old flat at Baker Street to say hello to dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She seems well, in spite of everything, and she still makes a lovely cup of tea. She was happy to see me and even asked about my love life.

I told her that I was leaving broken hearts wherever I went and then I laughed to the tune of "Anaconda" by Nicki Minaj.

Mrs. Hudson looked slightly alarmed at this.

I spent the rest of the day exploring the city but had a bit of an accident.

Oh, don't worry, nothing serious. Well, not physically, at least. But really rather embarrassing.

Long story short I tripped on one of the steps outside the National Gallery, rolled like a boulder into Trafalgar Square, and in an attempt to make a dignified exit, tripped and fell into a fountain.

So yes, minor physical injuries. Major mortification. And it doesn't help that everyone around me captured those moments on their phones and now my mortification is all over Twitter.

But I still had some injuries to be tended to so I set up an appointment at the nearest clinic where the nurse did not look judgmental.

"Don't worry too much about that," the extremely friendly nurse reassured me, "give it a couple of hours at the most and the Internet will have found a new victim."

"I hope you're right," I told her, "because this isn't exactly how I'd like to spend my fifteen minutes of fame."

I chatted with her a while longer. She was really lovely. Her name is Mary and I think I've made a new friend.

And then, I was surprised to learn that the doctor I was seeing was my old neighbor, John Watson!

He recognized me immediately. I'm quite unforgettable. (I think it's the height. It's probably the height.) We got to chatting and catching up, all the while avoiding the topic of Sherlock Holmes. I learned that John and Mary were together and I could not be happier for them.

He seemed to have moved on. Good for him.

What wasn't good was the ridiculous mustache he sported. It took all my powers of self-restraint not to make any jokes about it. But you have no idea how much I was tempted.

(Among other things he reminded me of that bank manager, Dick Twist. Yes, you read it correctly, Dick Twist.)

I survived the appointment without ruining any friendships. Mary was even kind enough to invite me for dinner with them while I'm still in London. What a lovely lady and they do look so perfect together.

I'll be going back home in a couple of days though. London just isn't the same without my tall, arrogant, genius neighbor.

But I keep getting the feeling that everything's about to change. Something's coming. Something exciting.

And I'm not ashamed to say that it's going to be…

Such fun!


	6. Chapter 6

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously:_

_NOTE: And I'm back! Three more chapters will be up before the Miranda finale on Christmas Day! So here's the chapter for the events of "The Empty Hearse."_

_Random Ruth gave me the idea for the conversation between Sherlock and Miranda so thank you very much for your hilarious suggestion! I hope you like how I interpreted the idea._

_And I do apologize for taking forever between updates. I'll be posting the next chapter next week so you have that to look forward to!_

_I hope you enjoy the chapter!_

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Greetings, my lovely friends!

I'm lovely too? Oh, you're too kind! Lovely? Me? Stop it! Me, lovely? Stop it!

…

Stop it!

Now, pull a chair, a sofa, or anything to sit on really…and focus, for I'm ready to impart…m'news!

Guess who's back?

...

Never mind, I don't have all day so I'll just tell you, if you don't know already. And it would be weird if you didn't know because it is basically trending all over the Internet.

Trending, I know, I am so updated!

Anyway, get ready…

SHERLOCK HOLMES!

Yes, you read that right. _The _SHERLOCK HOLMES (just to be sure).

Of course, I'm serious. I wouldn't be joking about something this phenomenal!

He's alive and well. And he's BACK!

Let's try not to get into the details. There are all sorts of stories circulating about how he survived his fatal fall two years ago. And he has neither denied and confirmed any of the theories so he is as infuriating as ever which only proves that he's the real deal.

How did I find out about it?

Well, I have been trying my hand at the social media sites.

Including a few dating sites, maybe.

And not at all looking at photos on Gary's online profiles. I'm not a stalker!

So, I was online the other day when the news exploded! It was everywhere and I just had to find out all I can about it.

And in fact, I'm on my way back to London right now because I need to see him for myself. He is an acquaintance after all, a fact I constantly remind everyone of. Never really met a celebrity before this and so I do enjoy the attention whenever I bring him up in conversation.

"Yes, yes, Sherlock Holmes," I will say casually, "yes, of course, I met him. Not only that, he was my neighbor for quite some time!"

After which I am always bombarded with questions on what he's really like, questions which I greatly enjoy answering. People are as eager as ever to learn more about him and who am I to deny their curiosity?

But I have my curiosity too and I have been in touch with that nice nurse, Mary, who told me that Sherlock's revealing himself to John Watson did not go down very well. I'm lucky enough to have an insider's glimpse into that world and I do consider myself a friend of sorts to both John and Mary so I was concerned when I heard about it. Sadly, it does not look like any reconciliation is forthcoming. (Good word!)

Not that I blame him, of course. He did suffer quite a lot when he believed Sherlock was dead. But they are best friends and I do hope they will patch things up soon!

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Well.

Well.

Well, I've seen him.

It's definitely him, no doubt about it.

Still the same tall, arrogant, rude, know-it-all detective I knew two years ago. And I think I understand a little better why John is so upset with him.

So here's what happened.

I returned to 221B Baker Street to call on our illustrious friend. Mrs. Hudson opened the door and seemed very glad to see me. She greeted me rather warmly.

"So I see you've heard the news, then?" she asked even before I said anything, "he's upstairs."

"Alone?" I asked.

The old lady sighed. "John still refuses to speak with him, I'm afraid."

I nodded before making my way upstairs. I wasn't even sure why I was even there. To see him with my own eyes, yes. But I didn't exactly know what to say to him or what else to do once I'd seen him.

I knocked and his familiar voice said "Enter!"

And there he was, same old Sherlock. Standing straight and tall, wearing a suit and facing the window.

"Miranda," he said without even facing me. How does he do that?

"Hello," I said.

"I remembered the sound of your footsteps from when you used to live here," he explained, answering the question I had meant to ask and finally turning to face me. "You look well."

I was taken aback by such uncharacteristic courtesy. But I realized that I was a familiar face and though we weren't exactly friends, I think we were on relatively good terms.

"So do you," I replied, "it's been a while."

"What brings you to London again?"

"You know, the sights."

"You mean you wanted to see for yourself if I was really back."

"Well…." But what was the point of pretending otherwise?

"Well, here I am."

"Yes."

There was some awkward silence after that. Well, it was more awkward for me than for him, I suppose. While I was struggling to find something to say, he seemed lost in thought, probably already forgetting that I was even there.

I saw what I came for, I thought, so I guess I should go.

"Well, it was good to see you again," I blurted out, "I should get going. Things to do, you know."

"I doubt it," he said but with a small smile that made me forgive him the cheeky remark. (Mostly because it was true anyway).

"Anyway," I said, turning to go.

"Wait," he said, to my great surprise. For the first time since I met him, he even looked hesitant.

I waited with bated breath for what he would say next.

"I was wondering," he began awkwardly, "would you…" He cleared his throat.

For a brief moment I thought that my allure had finally worked its magic on him. But I dismissed the idea. This was Sherlock Holmes, after all. And I'm not completely delusional.

"Would you like to…." he started again, even more hesitantly as I waited, "solve….no, no, never mind."

"What?" I asked.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Forget I said anything."

"Fine," I replied in a disappointed tone.

Then, something occurred to me. "But were you just about to ask me to solve crimes with you?"

He looked at me with some surprise. I shrugged, as smugly as I could manage.

"I have known you for quite some time, you know," I explained.

"So it seems," he answered curtly.

"So why did you change your mind?"

"I'm not that desperate," he said with a smirk.

"Rude," I told him to his face before turning to storm off. And of course I didn't get to slam the door as loudly as I could because my scarf got caught in it. But I managed to do it the second time.

How rude. But then again, it's Sherlock Holmes.

And though I'll never ever admit it to him, I know I wouldn't be the best partner for crime-solving. It involves a number of things I don't particularly enjoy such as staying out all night (no thank you!), running (no way!), and generally putting one's self in danger (I get enough excitement from the telly, thank you very much!)

In a way, I'm relieved he didn't ask me after all. Because I might have accepted, just for the fun of it, only to get us both into deep trouble. I have to admit that I scare easily and I've gotten into enough disastrous situations that don't even involve crimes. For instance, I can't even manage a little dinner party without something going awry!

So I think I'll be leaving the crime-solving to the professionals. That's the reasonable course of action. Good call on that, Sherlock, even if you were a bit rude about it. The man knows what he's doing.

Maybe he looks a little tired and without John there with him, he does seem lonely. But Sherlock Holmes is definitely back, and he doesn't seem to have changed much in two years. And in a world that never stops changing, it's a bit of a comfort to have some things remain constant.

...

(Now, wasn't that profound? Well done, me!)


	7. Chapter 7

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously:_

_NOTE: Here's the chapter for "The Sign of Three" and what a fun chapter to write. The idea for it came so easily because this situation matches both Miranda and Sherlock's characters._

_I hope you enjoy this and please let me know what you think!_

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Well, hello there!

Lovely to see you again! Now, back to me! For I have much to share with you all and it involves a (shudder) social event.

And you know very well how I feel about those. Social events are to be avoided at all costs since they are almost always occasions for severe embarrassment and even mortification. They stress me out and make act in crazy ways (if you will recall, the awkward musical eulogy I gave at a funeral once as well as all the weird things I claimed to do during my mother's campaign party).

And of all the social events in the world, weddings (other people's) are by far the worst because weddings seem to exist for couples to rub their happiness into the faces of anyone invited who isn't married. And every time I attend a wedding, my mother never fails to loudly lament how she might never get to attend mine because I am such a disappointment when it comes to matrimonial endeavor.

I was kindly invited to attend the wedding reception of Mr. and Mrs. John Watson. But much to my delight, this wedding turned out to be memorable, and not in a mortifying way! It was even rather thrilling, which I should now expect since Sherlock Holmes was involved.

The event was very lovely and well-organized. The couple looked happy but not annoyingly happy and they didn't rub it in anyone's face so that was even lovelier. And I am really very fond of them and I wished them well. I usually hate formal gatherings like this but this time it was quite enjoyable, even before the best man gave his speech.

I was seated at a table with Mrs. Hudson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, and several other friends of John and Sherlock. I almost wore lilac but luckily changed my mind and decided to go with a more subtle - light pink - so at least I didn't look like one giant bridesmaid. The food was lovely, the venue was classy, but enough about that. The entertainment was exceptional.

And by entertainment, I mean watching Sherlock Holmes struggle through reading the telegrams. I never thought I would ever hear the renowned detective utter the words: "big squishy cuddles."

"Big squishy cuddles." Nice phrase.

Anyway…. the best part was his speech. And I thought I was the most awkward person during social events. It turns out that even the great Sherlock Holmes can be delightfully awkward. Even a bit clumsy, verbally. It was a relief to know that for all his confidence, he was still human.

And in a way, I sympathized with him. At least, he seemed to have prepared a good speech. I always start saying something unrelated and then end by singing all verses of a song. (It never ends well but I can never stop myself in time.)

But for all that, he delivered a really touching speech about John.

"John, I am a ridiculous man," he began and I think the whole room collectively nodded in agreement, but as he went on, he showed more emotion than I ever imagined him capable of.

I don't really remember the rest of that amazing speech because, like many present that day, I was too busy trying not to blubber too loudly. Sherlock Holmes had moved us all to tears.

And the idiot didn't even know why we were getting emotional!

I smiled as John gave his best friend a hug though it reminded me of a hobbit hugging a tree but anyway, it was all very touching.

And then, Sherlock started talking about some of the interesting cases they had worked on together, particularly that of the Bloody Guardsman.

I don't really remember the details of that case because I found myself wondering what it was like to stand still all day while people took photos beside you. What if you needed to scratch an itch in an awkward place? What if you twitched your nose too much?

I once frightened someone by pretending to be a mannequin and then suddenly moving. I imagine that would be even more fun if I was dressed like a palace guard. How many people would scream in fright if a guard suddenly said "Boo!"

My mind was distracted by all this that I only returned to the conversation when Sherlock was proposing a toast to the happy couple. And then, moments later, he was talking about a murder!

"Let's play a game," he said ominously, "let's play murder!"

"I don't want to play," I remember commenting, "enough unfortunate things happen to me by accident."

I wondered if I was the potential victim of this mysterious killer. Sherlock was trying to eliminate as many people as he could so that he could find the victim. Who would want to kill me at a wedding? Certainly not my mother. She would kill to see me married. Stevie and I have our odd quarrels but we would never get too violent. Maybe someone would try and hurt me in a crime of passion. I shuddered at the thought and sighed with relief when Sherlock seemed to narrow down his search to someone in another table. I don't' fancy getting murdered, at a wedding or any other occasion.

But being the great detective that he was, Sherlock solved it. I don't remember the details as I had been busy trying to do a new posh laugh while talking to one the guests. All's well that ends well, I suppose.

There was dancing, of course, and wonder of wonders, I even managed to dance beside good old Mr. Holmes himself. For once, he didn't seem to mind me and I think he even smiled. And I was glad to finally not have to do an awkward bend while dancing with someone. And he was really good.

"You're quite the talented dancer, Mr. Holmes," I teased.

"Well, one of us has to be," he replied with a smirk.

"Hahaha, I won't let you spoil my mood," I replied, "this is one of the few weddings I've attended that did not turn out to be a total disaster."

"Considering there had been an attempted murder in this one, I shudder to think about what happened at the other weddings you attended," Sherlock said.

I was preparing a clever retort when he added mischievously, "Invite along next time. Sounds like my kind of fun."


	8. Chapter 8

A Serious Case of Misdirected Allure

_DISCLAIMER: Since this is what I call fan fiction, I don't own the rights to either "Miranda" or "Sherlock." Obviously:_

_NOTE: So now we come to "His Last Vow". As you all know, a lot of things happen in this episode so I decided to focus on one particular moment in the episode so as not to make this needlessly complicated. So something short and sweet for the holidays.  
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_Hope you enjoy this and Merry Christmas to all!_

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Hello, hello, hello! Wonderful to see you again.

Settle down, for it's time for my news. And as you may have guessed, this once more concerns my famous friend, Sherlock Holmes.

Yes, you read that correctly, "friend." He doesn't have a lot of those and though he might not openly admit it, I think we've already moved past the mere "acquaintance" stage by now. For all his faults, I do genuinely feel concerned for him when he gets himself in sticky situations. God knows I've been in a lot of sticky situations myself (maybe not the same kind but still.)

Case in point, recently, he suffered a nearly fatal gunshot wound. Ooh, I sounded like a real detective. Someone must be rubbing off on me.

But seriously, he was in hospital for quite some time. And while he was recovering, some lady named Janine declared that she had been his girlfriend and the papers published so many scandalous stories about him. Stories that, if you knew the man, you would know were completely what I call rubbish.

So I decided to visit him in hospital, to see how he was getting along and maybe to cheer him up a bit with my delightful presence. He was all bandaged up but looked no worse for wear.

"This is a surprise," he said as I walked in, "your shop must be doing well enough for you to keep leaving it with your friend to manage."

"It's doing very well, of course," I replied, "and you're welcome, by the way. It's good to see you alive."

"I'm not so easily killed," he commented casually.

"You've been in the papers a lot again," I teased.

He gave a shrug. "The price of fame, I suppose."

"I don't believe any of it."

"You don't really read the papers anyway."

"That's not the point."

"What is, then?"

"They've been wrong about you before," I said simply and he raised an eyebrow at this.

"I think I know you a bit better than that," I added with my most charming smile. And to my surprise, he smiled back.

"Then, I must be a good influence on you," he teased.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," I replied, "anyway, I brought you some things. You know how people usually bring flowers or fruit baskets to hospital patients. Well, I was a little more creative than that."

As I laid out the basket I had prepared, I knew that he already knew what I had made but for once he did not even make fun of it. He almost looked grateful.

"You brought me your fruit friends?" he said incredulously and I still don't know how he knew I called them that but then again, he is who he is.

"Well, they're YOUR fruit friends now," I declared proudly as I presented Mr. and Mrs. Apple, the Orange twins, and the Banana brothers. These were some of my best work and I was glad that they did not go unappreciated.

Sherlock stared at the fruits with faces with some fascination.

"I figured that if you got bored, you could stage a murder with them," I suggested, "there are enough for victims and suspects and even a detective if you use your imagination."

"How very considerate of you," he said in a tone that almost sounded warm, "thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied sincerely, surprised by the lack of sarcasm. The visit had been full of surprises for us both.

Sherlock Holmes had actually seemed happy to see me. He must have been on a lot of medication.


End file.
